


version 16

by ancientglowstick



Series: 800 versions of ourselves (the good place) [1]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: For all we know this is literally canon, Gen, The Good Place (TV) Spoilers, as long as you've started season 2 you're good, just like in the show, lots of cursing but funny censorship versions of the words, no deaths cuz they're all dead already, purposefully misspelled words, tame alcohol reference, to keep the vibes right, yeah I said vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientglowstick/pseuds/ancientglowstick
Summary: After Eleanor finds out what Michael's been doing, he tries again. And again. And again. Before long, there are 800 different versions of The Good Place that the four humans have lived through. This is Version 16.
Relationships: Chidi Anagonye & Eleanor Shellstrop, Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza & Eleanor Shellstrop, Michael (The Good Place) & Eleanor Shellstrop, Tahani Al-Jamil & Eleanor Shellstrop
Series: 800 versions of ourselves (the good place) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576363
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	version 16

“Welcome to The Good Place.” The Good Place my ashhole.

My house is a clown shack and every restaurant only serves pickle dogs. Not to mention I can’t even forking curse. I guess it’s paradise for all the other athleisure-loving shirtheads here.

I sit on the stupid ledge inside the clown shack, waiting for Michael to get back with some “special surprise” he’s got for me. Unless it’s that really nice margarita mix or a shrimp platter, I’m not sure how special it’ll be. Surely I won’t be here long, so I might as well make a party of it.

Someone knocks at the clown shack’s door, but opens it before I can get up. That bowtied son of a bench waltzes in, but there’s someone behind him. A dweeb in a sweater vest.

“Hello, Eleanor, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“Of course not,” I say, forcing down vomit with a candy-sweet smile.

“Now, here in The Good Place, there is something very special.” He keeps saying ‘special.’ “Here, you get to meet the one person who’s most similar to you in the whole world.”

“What?” The dweeb scoots forward and reaches out his hand. “Hi, I’m Chidi Anagonye. I’m your soulmate.” I shake his hand awkwardly.

“Hi, Chibi.”

Michael waves his hands and does a weird little dance-thing. “I’ll leave you two alone. Get to know each other!” He starts to leave, but turns around, adding, “See you at the party tonight!” As soon as the door closes behind him, I grab Chibi's arm. 

“Actually, it’s Chidi. With a D.”

“Whatever, Chimney. I need your help.”

“My help? Why-”

“Listen. I’m not supposed to be here.”

Now it’s his turn to say, “What?”

“I don’t know what kinda _What Would You Do?_ crap Michael is trying to pull on me, but I don’t belong in The Good Place. I was a real ashhole back on Earth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I only watched _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ because I kept count of how much they made each other cry.”

“What’s _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_?” He looks kinda sick. That’s it. This forkturd is definitely not my soulmate.

“You don’t know Kim K?” He shakes his head. “She’s famous for a sex tape that went viral. Well, that, and being dumber than a Barbie doll with more plastic in her ash.”

Now he looks constipated. “I’m getting a stomachache.” He takes my old spot on the ledge. “Is that even possible in heaven?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not supposed to be here. Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Am I gonna help you?” he sputters. “Why would I help you?”

“I don’t know, cause you’re a good person? You are in The Good Place.”

Charlie sighs. “Fine. What do you want help with?” Finally, he’s on my side.

“I need your help convincing all the lame-o’s here that I deserve a spot in The Good Place. A real spot.”

He takes his glasses off and puts his head in his hands. He lets out a groan like a dying donkey.

“What if we start at the party tonight? Seems like a good time to get to know people. We could go around and show everyone how great I am. The losers will never even question it. They’re too nice to be suspicious.”

He looks like he’s been hit by a bus.

“What’s wrong, dude?”

“On Earth, while I was alive, I was an ethics professor. I taught moral philosophy.”

I wanna kick the stupid stairless ledge. “Well forking shirt, man. Lead with that next time.”

“But, I guess if it’s saving you from eternal damnation, I’ll try to help you keep your spot.”

“Thanks, Chia.”

“It’s Chidi. And don’t talk to anyone else, okay? It’ll make things very difficult.”

___

Chia leaves to change out of his sad-ash sweater vest. I find an epic navy blue dress in my closet behind all the patterned collared shirts and a gold armband in a drawer somewhere. I kinda feel like a badash. Chardonnay comes back to my clown shack in a really sharp tuxedo.

“Gotta admit,” I say, “you keep it toight. Why don’t you dress like this all the time, instead of like a lonely librarian? It works.” I give him two thumbs up, and it takes three years off his afterlifespan.

“Let’s just go to the party.”

He offers his arm, and my heart jumps a little. Chill, girl. I rest my hand on his elbow like they do at movie premieres, and we walk across the yard.

It’s the most beautiful house I’ve seen in my life, including the Arizona capitol building. There are about a bajillion fountains and bushes with more kinds of flowers than I thought existed. The inside is even prettier, all gold and columns and marble staircases.

We walk around for a minute, saying hello and how do you do? to people like we’ve all got our panties up our ashes. I grab two or three glasses of wine, finish them, and hide them in the grand piano before taking another. There’s orchestral music playing, so I decide to bust some moves, like anyone with a sense of rhythm.

“Good evening, everyone.” Someone’s tapping a glass. I look around, but everyone in this hailhole is taller than me. Fork. Chair pulls me gently to the right, where he’s found a little peephole about my height. I let go of his arm and elbow my way to the front.

A model, eight feet tall with dark hair Rapunzel would buy as extensions, stands at the front of the ballroom. Next to her, a jacked dude in a toga with a jawline that could cut paper. She holds a wine glass like it’s made of diamond. It probably is.

“Thank you all for coming.” Somehow, she sounds hautier than she looks. It’s the British accent. Her eyes sweep over the crowd and stick on me. I smile, overly sugary yet again. She grimaces for a second before returning to her regal air. In a mirror behind her, I catch what she was looking at. There’s lipstick on my teeth. My hair’s falling out of its fancy twist. And there are pit stains on the navy dress. Of forking course.

“Hey!” I yell.

Oh shirt. I yelled.

The whole room turns to look at me. So I keep going. “What the hail, man?”

“Excuse me?” The Queen herself is confused, oh no!

“I’m living my life, having fun, and you just have to piss all over it, don’t you? Hey, I can say piss!”

Everyone starts to talk. Ethics man, whose name I forgot, taps my shoulder. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Maybe even head home?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t care about that anymore. This bench is pissing on me cuz I’m having a good time.” I leave the crowd and go up to the front. I hip-bump The Queen out of my spotlight. The toga man is hot, so he can stay. "Maybe I sweat a lot, and maybe I came to this lame-ash party already drunk, but who cares? Do you care?” I ask the toga man.

He doesn’t do anything. I squeeze his shoulder. “Ooh, that’s impressive, dude. How are you so fit?”

“Mostly my homies and I wrestled crocodiles and alligators out of people’s pools back home. But I also ran a 60-person dance crew.”

“What the hail?”

“Yeah,” the monk continues. “I’m from Jacksonville.” He smiles.

The Queen interrupts. “I’m sorry, but what is going on here?”

“Ya boy Muscles over here is Florida trash. Sorry mate,” I say, in a terrible imitation of her accent. She’s horrified. Good. “That’s right, bench! He doesn’t belong in The Good Place, either! Fork The Good Place!”

Michael appears, pushing to the front. He looks very anxious. And sweaty. It makes me like him more.

“I’m sorry?” he asks. He adjusts his tie.

“You heard me!”

“Fork… The Good Place?”

“Yeah!” I sloppily throw my remaining glass on the floor. It rolls away. Shirt, hearing it shatter would’ve been so much more fun. Whatever. I throw an arm around the Florida trash. “Fork my clown shack, and fork whatever the hail pickle dogs are. A pickle wrapped in beef and covered in dressing, guys? Nasty.”

“It’s actually quite good, once you get used to it,” Michael offers.

The Queen interjects. “No, she’s right, actually. Eleanor, I believe?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny the validity of that statement. Good, right? _Judge Judy_ taught me.” I take the glass from her hand and drink what’s left.

She continues. “I would never eat something as unrefined as a pickled dog, Michael. As my good friend Rachael Ray told me, ‘Never put something in your mouth you don’t want to say the name of.’”

I snicker. The Queen looks appalled. “She meant food, of course.”

“Michael, tell us what’s going on, please.” Ethics man has found some guts and joined us. He looks constipated again, and starts pointing. “Why is Eleanor here? Why is he from Jacksonville? What’s the deal with pickle dogs? Why are there pickle dogs in heaven?”

I drop The Queen’s glass and it hits the ballroom floor with a satisfying shatter.

“Holy forking shirtballs.” I look up from the glass pieces and straight at Michael, who looks about as sick as ethics man.

“This is The Bad Place.”


End file.
